


Poison

by OdeToSolitude



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 9x10, Angst, Canonical Character Death, Crying, Episode: s09e10 Road Trip, M/M, Other, Post s09e10 Road Trip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-27
Updated: 2014-02-27
Packaged: 2018-01-13 22:09:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1242400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OdeToSolitude/pseuds/OdeToSolitude
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Occurs after 9x10 Road Trip</p>
    </blockquote>





	Poison

**Author's Note:**

> Occurs after 9x10 Road Trip

The sound was distant, hushed; just a muted flutter, but Dean’s ears had gotten accustomed to detecting it, and his shoulders tensed ever so slightly. He moved his lips to speak, but nothing came out. Coughing out the long, drawn-out silence clogging his throat, he finally whispered, voice much lower than usual, “Cas…I thought I told you to stay with Sam.”

“Sam’s safe and deeply asleep. I can worry about you now.”

The angel crossed the floor to where Dean was sitting on a bed, absently staring at the frayed wallpaper of the sleazy motel room, curling off at the corners and hanging limply, revealing filthy walls underneath. Dean never moved, but was vaguely aware of the sudden depression of the mattress next to him where Cas found his perch, wringing his hands in his lap, glancing sideways at Dean.

“Don’t….” Dean whispered impulsively, although Castiel had made no move to speak. “Just…don’t, okay?” He rasped, clenching his hand around his knee, looking away from Castiel. Dean Winchester closed his eyes tightly, lowering his head as his chest seemed to tighten like a vice. It felt like a boa constrictor had slithered its way beneath his skin and made a home around his ribs, round and round, tightly digging his bones into his heart and it ached. It ached so bad it seemed to render him perpetually unconscious, seeming to hazily sway about, unable to reconcile reality with the guilt ripping through his chest. His breath stuck in his windpipe, and he shook slightly, with a mixture of grief and pain and _such_ poisonous self-loathing that it made his eyes as dry as a wasteland. He would not shed tears that day.

_I’m poison, Sam. People get close to me, they get killed…or worse._

It hurt. It hurt him that for once, Sam didn’t seem to correct him. He didn’t stop to tell him that it wasn’t his fault, all these deaths…all those people they’d lost over the years. He wasn’t reassured of his competence as he usually was, and he wasn’t sure whether it was Sam’s pitiful state, or if it was his sudden realization that Dean WAS poison.  Dean knew that if his little brother had a single scrap of sense, he’d disappear from his life. Carve himself some comfortable little corner in some obsolete town in some remote State, where he could have a family and children and stir away from all the crazy heavenly crap. And for an instant, soaking wet on that bridge, it seemed to him that that was Sam’s exact plan.

_Go. I’m not gonna stop you._

_But don’t go thinking that’s the problem, ‘cause it’s not._

The words ring in his ears, beating at his eardrums rhythmically with the sound of his pulse, throbbing consistently, reminding him that for every moment he breathes, every second he remains on this path of horrid existence, more people are likely to die.

God knows he’s saved Sam from the same fate enough times.

Castiel was so quiet, Dean had almost forgotten he was there. The finger that tentatively brushed the fabric of his jeans jerked him back to reality, like a hook tugging at his inner essence.  He stifled his surprised jerk, and turned a weary, hollow-eyed face to Cas, whose concerned eyes burned in the darkness of the room, ever searching Dean’s for answers.

“Exiling yourself isn’t the answer, Dean…nor is staying away from Sam.”, the words slipped out of Cas’ lips slowly,  soft against Dean’s ears, but not seeming to penetrate his resolve. “He might’ve not stopped you from leaving, but I’ve seen Sam when he thinks I’m not looking. He’s falling apart. You belong at each other’s sides.”

The finger now expanded to a gentle palm, resting on Dean’s knee, softly squeezing, the warmth of Castiel’s vessel seeping to touch Dean’s skin. It was true that Dean and Castiel’s relationship was far beyond awkward brotherly gestures and one-armed hugs, but the moment seemed to demand a certain kind of somber attitude, and Cas didn’t find it in himself to move and do more. Sure, they were accustomed to crumpled bed sheets and sweaty bodies furiously dancing against each other, to whispered profanities and moaned names and blissful release, but they had not yet progressed to that level of deep emotional solidarity, at least not consciously. That was the reason Cas seemed to struggle to show his support and sympathy to Dean, and in all truth, Dean was relieved. He could not have dealt with more emotional strain at this point.

“I need to protect him. I need to make sure he’s alright while I take care of this.” Finally, Dean swiveled to look at Castiel, eyes burning with such a mixture of fear and wrath that they shocked the angel. “I need you to protect him, Cas…please. I’m begging you.” His voice dropped to a whisper, and he took Cas’ hand in his own, clutching it desperately, pressing it to his temple.” Please!” His voice was ragged, desperate, and despite himself, Castiel found his arms around Dean, the latter’s forehead pressed against the fabric of the trench coat.  Dean’s back rocked with the force of his heaving, dry sobs. Strangled sounds of grief and guilt and loathing and vile emotions rose up to his chest, but stubborn as ever, his eyes would not allow him the release he needed.

Castiel lost count of how many hours they had sat like this, no more closer. They had stayed precisely in the same position, until he had noticed Dean’s head getting heavier on his shoulder, and with a small glance, he noticed the hunter had dozed off. He slipped him slowly onto the bed, covering him with the stained, pock-marked motel blankets. Castiel stood at the foot of his bed, his chest tightening with grief for his lover and best friend…but he know what he had to do.

In a low flutter of wings, Castiel stood at another bed, one with a different Winchester brother. Sam’s hair fell haphazardly to his face, and he stirred repeatedly, seemingly struggling with fitful sleep. Tentatively, Castiel placed a palm to his temple, and before him flashed images, snippets of memories and thoughts and the jumbled-up mess of Sam Winchester’s dreams, and in those dreams, he saw a young man’s frightened face,  a pair of eyes exuding such blinding lights, and then nothing. Burned, charred eyeball sockets, and an internal scream of agony.

Castiel cried hot, angry tears that night, which he felt was fitting, considering his lover would not.


End file.
